


laughter; a foreign tongue

by Ser_Renity



Series: Final Arc [3]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Doubt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, post-626
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 03:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3963136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ser_Renity/pseuds/Ser_Renity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was not exactly a necessity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	laughter; a foreign tongue

**Author's Note:**

> my contribution to the 626 smiling hype

Tasting defeat made Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez self-conscious about a great many things; starting with his own worth the doubt extended to his strength and purpose in life, or afterlife. Then there was the issue of his looks that stemmed from someone laughing at his Pantera form; sending him into a violent frenzy that he was no longer allowed to have. Detainment did not treat him well but he was satisfied with the outcome. “Should have seen the other guy”, indeed.

  
However, it did not stop there even if he wished it did. All of the other matters were justified in part, made sense, were easy to relate to and easily resolved.

  
Something like laughter was a different thing entirely, worlds apart from an existential crisis. Perhaps that was what caused it to matter so much in the long run.

 

* * *

 

 

Grimmjow did not remember much from his human life, just glimpses of the decrepit past. It was nothing to regret, but also nothing to mourn, simply a stage before this one, a bridge he had burned to cross from one phase to another.

  
Laughter was common then. Humans used it without care, threw it out into the world without a second thought. He remembered liking the darker kinds of humor, the more sarcastic tones and all things morbid. A friend had attempted to sway his mind many times, demonstrated other jokes and charades that would turn his thoughts into something more productive. But he had always been a rebel for rebellion’s sake.

 

* * *

 

 

Life - or death- as a Hollow was different. There was no humor in having your heart torn out or being consumed by creatures with masks you had no name for at that point in time.

  
After that it became easy.

  
Feed. Devour.

  
From Gillian to Adjuchas that changed again, but the core of the issue stayed the same.

  
Feed. Fear. Devour. Dreams of a moon watching over the desert from afar.

  
Laughter was not exactly a necessity; what good would fun do in a situation where one wrong step meant certain death?

  
Grimmjow allowed his roaring laugh to resonate once and the desert rejected it like foreign blood; he was buzzed by a victim’s blood and licked his shiny teeth until they were bare and unsullied.

  
It was a rumble in his chest then, a deep sound like approaching thunder. His fracción flinched away from his anger and his destructive tendencies, the brute force behind his actions.

  
Laughter meant victory back then, corpses did not even have the time to smile. Everyone who strived for the existence beyond had to cast aside everything unnecessary. Enjoyment was not inherent to survival and Grimmjow never missed it; not if the sensation could be so easily replaced with the exhilaration he felt after escaping a grisly fate.

 

* * *

 

 

“Look at me,” he laughed as he towered above the other Adjuchas with a manic grin spreading on his now-human face, “I am the king.”

  
With that he was born as an Arrancar, his flesh sensitive and literally thin-skinned until the hierro formed and encased him in armor.

  
And with it came human mannerisms. It started with the obligation to wear clothes even if they were restricting, with the demand to speak in human tongues. Suddenly he was being thought of in boxes and concepts he did not seem to fit. Breaking out of them, breaking those restrictions himself was punished, obviously. That never stopped him.

  
Grimmjow had never learned how to show true restraint. Not the false one, the facade that Aizen forced him to put on by shoving him around and to the ground. Restraint was for those who stopped walking forward, for those who looked back and died.

  
So he laughed and laughed whenever he could, whenever the need arose and his lips twitched with the urge to expose his own will to destroy.

  
And back then it didn’t matter how he laughed because they feared his claws and his teeth and the madness that reverberated with every spout of laughter. It echoed, extended, spread like a virus.

  
To an Arrancar, laughter was instrumented power and a powerful instrument.

 

* * *

 

 

Humans reacted to his expressions differently and it almost felt as if he had come full circle.

  
Orihime Inoue seemed concerned, doubtful. Not intimidated as she should have been, not trembling with fear.

  
Kurosaki, on the other hand- well, he had always been an exception. Not the first one to get under Grimmjow’s skin, but the first one to leave a permanent mark. Not the first to force him to his knees, but the only one who ever protected him a second later.  
Laughter meant something else to Kurosaki, something besides morbidity and victory and power. Something that first friend in his human life would have appreciated, a simple enjoyment of life and all it offered.

  
Grimmjow heard him laugh when he was beaten and bleeding out into the sand. It did not make much sense to him then.

 

* * *

 

 

Time mellowed him and it changed his priorities. What had been destruction before was crushed to pieces and reassembled into something like debt and the wish to repay it.

  
Laughter came easy during this time, a quick way to deal with irritation or confusion of any kind. Working with the shinigami and their kind was not exactly something Grimmjow had prepared for; it was another change, another phase that demanded an entirely different attitude.

  
Change, adapt, survive, while trying to stay the same down in the very core of what he was.

  
So when he felt threatened and yet knew he could not use violence, he laughed. When he didn’t understand, he laughed. When he got angry, he-

  
“Are you happy?” Nelliel asked him once as he grinned without any real reason, his smile carved in stone. There was a reason his mask was twisted into an eternal grin.

  
“Well I’m not fucking sad, now am I?” Grimmjow replied and shrugged. His scowl only deepened as the full meaning of her words sunk in.

  
“I never know with you,” Nelliel sighed, “I don’t think I’ve seen you when you’re sad.”

  
Sadness was reserved to those quiet seconds every decade when the moon was bright and high up above his head. No specific memory was connected to the image, but it still left him feeling somber. A bittersweet painting of something he couldn’t name.

 

* * *

 

 

A year later things had changed once more. Grimmjow had slowly become accustomed to the sensation of not being as hollow anymore; everything he had gone through helped fill the void, all of those naive and foolish people he had fought alongside.

  
Kurosaki smiled at him as he realized Grimmjow would stay around to help him fight; a fond smile, a kind smile.

  
However, being amiable and not destructive were not part of his nature. It was unprecedented.

  
So when he was expected to fit into their boxes and concepts and rules his calm felt forced, his patience nothing but a farce.

  
Grimmjow laughed once and people stared at him, noticed the mad edge he gave the sounds, the remnant of insanity. It was the first time he forced himself to learn restraint.

  
“You don’t laugh anymore,” Kurosaki told him at some point, “Not even when we fight.”

  
“Shut up,” Grimmjow answered and rolled his eyes, “Isn’t like it’s important.”

  
“It could be. If you wanted it to.”

  
“Yeah? Then tell me, smartass, what could laughing my ass off change?”

  
“It doesn’t have to change anything, idiot,” Kurosaki said and shrugged, “Maybe I missed it, I don’t know.”

  
Grimmjow stared at him.

  
“Don’t look at me like that,” Kurosaki laughed and punched his shoulder, “Rules aren’t for you, remember?”

  
He smiled and made it look so easy to have a heart.

  
Grimmjow blinked several times in a row, clearing away whatever could have clouded his view.

  
Then his grin spread again, ear to ear, vibrant and intense.

  
“Yeah,” he said, “I remember.”

 

 

* * *

 


End file.
